


Bite Your Tongue

by muscularchambers



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Emetophilia, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, Incest, M/M, Public Claiming, Rape Roleplay, Sibling Incest, Slut Shaming, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muscularchambers/pseuds/muscularchambers
Summary: The kisses had started out as just another mode of comfort.Lucien's exile turns into confinement at the hand of his eldest brother. A demonstration is in order; A performance is to come.





	Bite Your Tongue

 'Exile.’

On his knees upon the throne room floor, Lucien swallows at the proclamation of his sentence. Skin prickling, he looks around to find the eyes he feels upon him. He finds them belonging to his eldest brother; Eris does not look away.

‘Lock him up for now,’ Beron orders the guards, dismissing his youngest son with an easy wave of the hand. Lucien does not feel as betrayed as he perhaps should do. ‘Just get this filth out of my sight.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Father,’ Eris calls later, after the court has been dismissed and they have relocated to the study. His father sits whilst he pretends to be occupied in choosing a volume from the bookshelves. As he has proven countless times before, Eris is an unrivaled actor; He feigns disinterest as if it is second nature. ‘About Lucien— I had an alternative I’d like to propose to you.’

‘Lucien? You think I was too harsh?’ His father does not look up from the decrees he’s signing, brow ever so minutely furrowed. His favourite son, heir to the throne, has endured him long enough to read those hidden signs. He’s learned to play the old man like a soft song on strings.

‘On the contrary. Exile only rids him from our sight. It hardly punishes _him_.’ At this, Beron raises his gaze. The pair look much the same, the elder a little broader in the jaw, his son’s features more angular, but the likeness is uncanny. It is easy to understand both why he trusts him, and why he resents him so.

‘And what do you propose?’

‘Well, I was thinking: It was _us_ he shamed. Betrayed. It should be we, the family he scorned, that punishes him. I was thinking I should do it.’ Eris pries a scarlet novel from a top shelf, thumbing through its pages. ‘I’d like to break him, father. Show him he’s not only not family anymore; He’s worse than that. He slept with that _animal_.’ He enacts a shiver. ‘You were the one saying it’ll make people think we were too soft on him. Let me show the courts we’re anything but.’

‘How?’ Beron asks, rubbing his upper lip with his knuckle, pen discarded now. He is too easily entwined around fingers to be permitted to rule a court much longer.

‘Beat him, yes. But more importantly, _break him_. Degrade him until we can drag him before the courts and have him grovel for forgiveness. Reach the point where we can abuse him before the nobility and have him thank us for it.’ Eris pops the novel back, shrugging. ‘Just an idea. Only, I heard the exact whispers you feared during the trial. As heir, I felt it was my duty to think of something.’

Steepling his fingers, massaging his chin with the tip of them, Beron’s expression darkens. ‘Gossiping already, are they? Why am I not surprised. You’re brother’s ruined whatever respect they had for this dynasty. I wouldn’t be surprised if-’ He shakes his head, motioning his son to step forward. ‘You’ll be able to do this? To your own brother?’

‘It’d be my pleasure,’ Eris answers, with true honesty. The cruelty his father was notorious for in his youth resonates in him with absolution, as if he is the man reincarnate. It is exactly the kind of persona he has crafted for such deception.

The smile that spreads unconscious across his lips is enough to convince his father. ‘So be it.’ He smiles, slow and cruel, just like his son. ‘I’ll have to tell your mother.’

‘Rather you than me.’

‘You shouldn’t fear her. She’s just a woman.’

‘A woman is what got us into this mess.’

‘No woman,’ Beron corrects. ‘That animal wasn’t worth the title.’  
  
Eris says nothing on the subject. He felt nothing for the deceased except a low, poorly-buried resentment, but he’ll not flaunt that here. Beron continues, ‘I’ll have him sent down to the dungeons. You’ll be given a copy of the keys. But solitary confinement for him, I think. You know what he’s like— I don’t want him stirring trouble amongst the prisoners.’

‘Oh no,’ Eris agrees, smile only growing wider. ‘He’s done quite enough of that already.’

 

* * *

 

 

‘How long will I need to be down here?’ Lucien demands when Eris visits him. The prisoner sits at the far side of the cell, arms draped over his knees, looking rather worse for wear. Eris can’t stand it.

No one is allowed to mark his brother but _him_.

‘Until I can convince father you’re well tamed enough to be confined to my quarters. Perhaps I’ll have a cell installed in the spare room.’ He smirks. ‘I already have half of the equipment.’

‘Maybe best you don’t let father find out about that,’ Lucien mutters. ‘Else we’ll _both_ end up in here.’

Chuckling, Eris inclines his head in agreement and strides to stand before the other. ‘Did you really sleep with that lesser girl?’

‘Yes,’ Lucien confesses through gritted teeth, exasperation turning to a glower. ‘Of all the things for father to discover, that was not the one I was expecting. What we’ve gotten away with… I guess it made me cocky.’ Sobering, he glances up at the elder. ‘Did she suffer?’

‘It was clean,’ Eris lies, reaching down to take his brother’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.’ He is not sorry for her, but rather for how deeply he knows the younger will feel it. He’s always been this way, so empathetic, caught up in reality as if he feels every person’s aching pain, like he’s a nerve, raw and exposed. Eris finds it fascinating, if infuriating. But then, they always have been opposites.

‘It was my fault. I should have been more careful. Jes was one of the best.’

‘You have the strangest interests, brother,’ he tells him dryly. It only earns him the wickedest of smirks, a flash of humor amongst the sombre atmosphere.

‘You’re one to talk.’

Rolling his eyes, Eris kneels, and pushes through the others legs to cage him with his arms. He lingers for a moment, studying that bruised and broken face, before softening to kiss him. It has been months since they’ve been at liberty to do this, Lucien locked up in distant dungeons, hounded by guards and worst of all, their father.

It feels like water in a desert, a relief from the months upon months of pretending. He tastes like salt and blood, lip bust, bruised and swollen. ‘I’ll have the lot of them castrated,’ Eris growls, plying the cut with his thumb till Lucien winces.

‘On what grounds? For punishing the prisoner you’ve now signed up to torture? Relax. I’ve endured worse.’

‘I trained you well,’ Eris murmurs with a smirk, tracing the outline of those lips before delving in to kiss them again. Oh, how he’s missed them. Missed this, missed the tight hot body straining beneath him.

‘What a good big brother you are.’

‘Not sure father would agree if it had been us he’d caught,’ Eris muses with dark satire, tongue probing the scab on the other’s lips till it rips, drawing blood. It’s been long enough that they are out of practice, and at this small action Lucien turns to putty beneath him, soft and pliable, eyes glazed, mouth wanting. He obliges as apology for the absence, capturing those bloodied lips to press, suck, bite. It is good confinement is solitary enough to conceal his unsubtle moaning.

‘Cauldron,’ Lucien hisses into him, and he realises it really has been too long. Thin fingers are knotting in Eris' short hair, dragging him closer. He likes to think he’s the one in control, but it is a desperate rush that drives him forward to gather the other in his arms and raise them, shoving him up against the dank slick walls. Lucien might be able to bed fair fae girls, but for Eris, the obsession runs much deeper. Every night has been a dream of his brother, a longing for the hand upon his cock that came to him when it had nightmares.

They are always opposites. Lucien so sunshine on the outside, bitter-broken beneath the skin. He’s always been so sure of himself and his beliefs. Eris? Eris doesn’t know who he is, only who he pretends to be. The only thing he has ever been sure of is his want for Lucien. They’re at opposite sides of the spectrum with their father, favorite and hated, heir and exiled, yet both just manage to conceal their loathing.

Hatred brought them together in the bedroom, a rough and heavy shoving up against furniture and cursing under breathing. Now? Now, it’s mutated into something so much more. Eris has never cared about anyone other than himself, species or individual, until Lucien. The youngest is the only soul he’ll fight for.

‘You fucking idiot,’ he growls low in his throat, nipping at neck and tender hickies. ‘How could you let yourself get caught like that?’

‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Then _think_ , idiot,’ Eris snarls, tearing at the other’s lip with his incisors to rip a fresh cut opposite. It cuts half way down his chin, oozing crimson hot and wet. ‘Else next time we’ll both be on the chopping block.’

‘The favoured son, fucking his biggest regret.’ Lucien smiles at that, languid and mocking and full of unearned arrogance. ‘Oh, now _that_ would break him.’    

‘Don’t you fucking dare.’

Reaching up, Lucien cups his jaw with battered hands, searching his eyes for what, Eris does not know. Whatever it is, he’s pretty sure it isn’t there. ‘I would never. I wouldn’t hurt you that way.’

‘Good,’ he says, quiet but far from gentle. With urgent hands he hitches the others legs up around his hips, fumbles with his robes to rumple them up above his waist. ‘Brothers shouldn’t hurt one another like that.’

‘Brothers?’ Lucien repeats, head tilting back against the wall to look down upon him. ‘Is that really all you think we are?’

Eris answers not in words but actions. He unbuckles himself and rubs fingers against thighs and assholes, searching. Lucien knows him well enough by now to retrieve the lubricant from his back pocket, to, like a servant girl, delicately place some on his fingers, spread it round with his filthy tongue. Even filthier is the sound he makes as Eris loosens him with those wetted fingers, curling deep within him to spread his legs apart.

‘Still so loose after all this time?’ Eris murmurs, soft, low, dangerous. He has often hurt him like this, as requested, as he desires. Once he was scared of it. By now, he’s learned how headily his younger brother laps it up. A third finger slips into his ass, a rough jerk that has him sharp inhaling, cursing colourful into Eris’s shoulder. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been a little slut, way down way down here?’

‘Not my fault the guards are so complying,’ Lucien purrs back, rocking his hips to etch those fingers deeper. ‘And so good at following instruction. I had all three on duty once. I think one of them was just a virgin.’

Without warning, Eris slaps his arse, hard. The responding hiss is all he needs to harden, erection slipping up against his brother’s belly. ‘You filthy whore. All this time I’ve been waiting for you, whilst you’ve been keeping busy?’

‘None of them were as good as you,’ Lucien assures him, voice throaty as his eyes lose focus, head tipping back. He closes his eyes and moans as Eris works his fist into his ass, slicked and ready. ‘None- _fuck-_ no one could - fucking fuck- fuck me like you.’

Eris does not need to be told this. Confidence is nothing he is lacking in, and besides, he knows well the sounds he can draw from little Lucien. Anything louder, he would have heard it from anywhere in the kingdom. For now, he smothers his brothers moans with a hand clamped across his mouth and pulls his fist out. Slipping in, the corresponding groan is offensively soft. He’ll punish him for that.

Leaning into him to keep him fixed high upon the wall, Eris fucks him to the sound of muffled swearing. Lucien, always so proper and prudish in the courthouse, turns to filth and slander in the bedroom. It’s his favourite thing about him. Only he’s heard it get this bad. Only he can fuck him to the point where sentences and words devolve into mindless syllables and expletives.

‘Cauldron, you’re filthy,’ he pants, thrusting harder into him, feeling that rough-soft spot in his ass rub against his cock. It triggers a tightening of Lucien's muscles, a whimper-whine in his throat. Eris would make him hold on, but they’ve both been deprived of one another for too long. Pushing up onto his toes, he buries himself deeper, and bites down on the others neck; Its a kind of claiming, a clamping to keep him his and here. No one gets to bite him this way but Eris.

Climaxing clumsily, jittering, shuddering, spilling cum all over his own stomach, Lucien lets out a pathetic whine and goes limp against his body. ‘Eris,’ he mumbles, over and over. ‘Eris. Eris. _Eris_.’

‘I’m right here,’ Eris assures him, his own cock sore and stiff from the ejaculation, slipping it out slowly whilst keeping a hold of him. ‘Right here. You did so well, my beautiful boy.’

Stroking his hair, he nuzzles him on the forehead as Lucien mumbles incoherently, kissing half-asleep against his jaw. ‘Missed you,’ he says through a yawn, clearly not as maintained on stamina as he might like to claim.

‘Don’t tell father,’ is all Eris says, cocky grin covering his exhaustion. Lucien whacks him round the head.

‘Don’t bring him up so soon. I’m still enjoying the orgasm.’

The following weeks are much the same, with Eris visiting him down in the dungeons for sloppy sex sessions and to deliver updates on the state of affairs in politics. Why Lucien cares, he’ll never know; He won’t inherit, ever, so it doesn’t affect him. Cauldron, Eris is the likely heir, and he doesn’t give a flying fuck about the lot of it. All he wants is his brother’s purple blotched body his and only his, breathy with ecstasy beneath him.

Still, it helps to pay attention for feigning interest to his father. He does a marvelous job of playing the malicious villain - it helps that his inclinations leave Lucien black and blue more often than not. Soon, the spare room besides his own is indeed renovated to a holding cell, and Lucien is kept in close quarters to him.

They spend the nights together in Eris’s bed, as they did since they were young. It started with little more than cuddling, Lucien prone to nightmares from their father’s disproportionate temper. It wasn’t until Eris was well of age, and Lucien just breaking into adulthood that they supposed holding one another in bed maybe was no longer sightly. Yet neither wanted to leave.

It had been Lucien to lean in and kiss him on the lips. ‘Shall I go?’ He’d asked him. A shaking of the head, and Eris had watched on in horror-awe as Lucien had disappeared beneath the sheets, and soon had his toes curling, trembling and crying out for some kind of salvation. It felt wrong, terribly wrong, from what they knew of sibling relations. Yet they had never really been brothers. They’d been bedmates by night, mortal enemies by day, filled with insults and fire fury. At night, they’d help one another listening to the sound of parents screaming.

The kisses had started out as just another mode of comfort.

Eris had fucked plenty of girls before, but never touched a man. ‘It’s fine,’ Lucien had told him. ‘It just works a little differently. If you want it?’ A nod. Lucien had pulled him down ontop of him, guided him to work him open with his fingers. Rolling over, he’d instructed him until words no longer found him, until he was bowing into the crux of his arm and begging for harder, deeper, more. From there? Eris had found the way himself, it all came so naturally.

And naturally, they told no one.

This seemed the perfect set up, Lucien able to work on studying and writing by day, the pair confined to one another’s bed chambers by night. And it was perfect. Until one day, someone noticed.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Eris,’ Beron asks one day, alone with his son in the throne room. He sits upon his seat of power, whilst his son stands awaiting down regal steps before him.

‘Are you fucking him?’

The question echoes around the high-domed walls for what feels like an age. Eris takes his time to answer. ‘Whom, father?’

‘Your brother.’

‘Lucien?’

‘Yes, Lucien. Obviously Lucien.’

Keeping his face resolute, betraying nothing, Eris asks with what he hopes is banal curiosity. ‘Why, my lord?’

‘Because we’ve received complaints and rumors that people can hear the pair of you.’ Unfortunately, it is an inherited ability. Beron’s expression remains just as unreadable. ‘So, I’ll ask you again, Eris: Are you fucking him?’

For a split second, Eris runs through the alternate possibilities. Could he claim Lucien is pleasuring himself? That would make him as torturer seem negligent? Has he himself been heard? He knows the sorts of things they do in the bedroom… He could pass them off as torture.

He could pass it off as torture.

Resolving, he straightens and looks his father in the eye. “I am, your lord. I soon found it the easiest way to break him.’ Before Beron can interrupt, he continues, ‘Nothing humiliates him more than being raped by his own brother. He went from defiant to uncharacteristically compliant in a matter of days once I employed the technique. Should I not have?’

Still unemotive, Beron gazes down at him. ‘You should have told me beforehand, Eris,’ he says, tight-lipped, perhaps bordering on rage, perhaps merely pragmatic. ‘It has caused… unnecessary speculations.’

‘Such as?’ Eris demands, too quick, too paranoid.

‘Such as that it’s been happening all along. That you only took him in because you’re in some incestuous romance with the filth,’ Beron barks, thunder voice bouncing off of the walls.

Not even the truth will fault the fox of lies, however. ‘Oh _please._ I could do better,’ Eris sneers, folding his arms behind his back as if he has nothing to hide. ‘It is me taking, not giving. If you’d like to ask Lucien-’

‘You know the only measure I can take,’ Beron tells him, a lie, for he is clueless. He waits, trying not to look doe-eyed, lost for a rare moment.

Sighing, Beron massages his temples and slumps back in his throne. He’s looking more and more tired these days. It seems the mild poison Eris has been spiking his tea with has been working. ‘A demonstration, before the court. Tomorrow.’

‘But- Father-’ Eris begins to protest on instinct.

‘No. If you’re to do this, you must do it publicly. Let them know what comes of questioning us. They wish to speculate on how we treat the scum who wrong us? Show them. Debase him in his entirety before everyone he ever knew and held the respect of. There's nothing unusual about it. It's been a standard practice of humiliation of men for centuries.'

Eris tries to come to terms with what his own father is asking of him, but for the worst of reasons, his cock is half hard and he’s yearning. He wants it. And he is not Lucien; Morals do not factor into the conversation. He knows what he wants, what he can get, and bows low. ‘As you command, father. What time shall I bring him for demonstration?’

‘Court at noon. I’ll have something setup for you. But Eris.’ Beron fixes him to the spot with that gold-russet gaze of their family. ‘Never again. Nothing like this behind my back, or you’ll be exiled too.’

‘Understood, father,’ Eris says, bowing lower and cursing the old man to the depths of the Weaver’s burrow. It won’t be long till his curse comes true. And until then? He can show everyone just what he has laid claim to.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Title(s) From [Bite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLuWMOF6vOU) by Troye Sivan


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